


Never giving up on Love

by fraufi666



Category: New South Wales State Politics, Political RPF - Australian 20th-21st c.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, BDSM, Bondage, Dating, Deception, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heartbreak, New South Wales State Politics - Freeform, Online Dating, Politics, Revenge Sex, Romance, Shibari, Sort Of, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:08:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27162955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraufi666/pseuds/fraufi666
Summary: Nothing hurts more than heartbreak, and Gladys Berejiklian has to deal with such pain alongside the stresses of the ICAC inquiry into the man who stole her heart. Ready to push aside the whole concept of love, she is persuaded to go on one final date. Will she be left disappointed?
Relationships: Malcolm Turnbull/Gladys Berejiklian
Kudos: 5





	Never giving up on Love

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story is an AU. Although I have used real people and political figures this is entirely a work of fiction. All romantic encounters, events and insinuations are from my imagination. I mean no disrespect to any of the people depicted. I am also in no way politically biased.

Since that day of the ICAC inquiry, nothing quite felt the same for Gladys Berejiklian. The Premier was used to answering the tough questions about policy and pragmatic issues. But when it came to sharing her personal life, as well as her innermost secrets, it proved to be the toughest challenge of all.

And Daryl Maguire. Oh how he tricked her. Maguire told her everything she wanted to hear. He said he loved her, that she was the most important person in his world. He even called her beautiful. But he was corrupt to the bone. A devil from the waist down.

_Who am I kidding?_ Berejiklian wondered in dismay, her eyes downcast as she sat at her desk. He never loved her. Maguire was just like the rest of them: a liar full of dirty promises. But it was hard, even after things had ended, to sit around and wait for a phone call that was never going to come. She missed him, but she knew that there was no way she could ever love him again. Her heart had turned to stone, and it would take someone truly special to really break down those walls.

A knock on the door disturbed her from her thoughts.

“Come in.” The Premier said promptly, putting her phone face down so that she was not even tempted to see a single text message show up.

The door opened. The Treasurer walked in. In his hand was a cup of coffee.

“I thought you could do with this, Premier.” Perrottet said, placing the cup gently on the table. She looked up at him.

“Thank you, Dominic. Is there something you need?” It was typical of her: wanting to hear more about policy than talking about personal matters. “And anyway, you needn’t call me Premier. We’ve worked together for years.”

“Not at all, Premier…I mean, Gladys.” Perrottet stammered awkwardly. “I actually just wanted to see how you are.”

Berejiklian raised her eyebrows, surprised by his concern. But she refused to talk about it. “Dominic…” She said gently, “You _know_ I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’ve said everything I needed to say to the public and to ICAC.”

He wiped some sweat from his upper lip. Talking about feelings was something even the Treasurer was not best at, and he was also getting nervous. Still, he managed to push on.

“That’s not what I mean.” He responded finally, “I mean, I’m concerned about you. You’ve been pushing yourself twice as hard these days. Have you had a good night’s sleep since the inquiry?”

She chuckled, trying to downplay her weariness. He was more clued-on than she thought. It was not a surprise she appointed him as Treasurer. Berejiklian smiled slightly.

“When I said I wanted to give up on love, I meant it.” She said decisively. “There’s no way I’m going to let an inconvenience like that interfere with the job that the people of New South Wales have voted me in for.”

“But Gladys…you can’t give up.” Perrottet interjected, putting a hand to her arm in support. His greyish-blue eyes sparkled with hope behind his glasses. “I know you’ll find someone else, someone better. It’s not your fault you fell for the wrong man.”

“Love is overrated, Dominic.” The Premier responded dismissively, “I’ve long decided that the one thing I can avoid stuffing up on my life, is my job.” She patted him on the hand, her dark eyes softening. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve been in the game long enough and I’m not going to back down, no matter what the media say.”

“I know it’s all a bit silly…But love is one of God’s greatest gifts.” Perrottet insisted.

She looked at him in confusion. Never, had she heard the Treasurer speak so passionately about something as abstract as love before. The only thing he seemed to care for was the Budget, after all.

“Are you speaking from the Bible or from experience, Dominic?” She asked in suspicion. From working with him, she had noticed how he acted a little more cheerful than usual, especially when she had assigned him to work with the Transport Minister. But she knew not to press him further on that. As a private person, she had enough of people asking her personal questions that she did not intend to do the same to someone else.

The Treasurer’s cheeks turned slightly pink and he blinked rapidly a few times. “Well um…it’s just a matter of speech.” He added weakly.

He quickly turned to walk back to the door, but before he did, he gave her one final glance. “Don’t call it quits just yet, Premier.”

“Thank you Dominic.”

After Perrottet had left the room, Berejiklian went onto the internet to read up about dating sites. Most required a cost, and she could not be bothered spending money on someone who might turn out to be a failure. What was the site that most young people these days used? She remembered: _Tinder_. With her usual efficiency as Premier, she set up an account for herself.

Now all she had to do was wait.

~

Berejiklian had only managed to check her _Tinder_ account once she had arrived home. She sat down on the couch, kicking off her heels before picking up her phone. Most of the people that appeared on the profile were really not that special. They either were married (she could tell by the wedding ring they still wore), only after some short-term fling, or were way too young for her liking. There was nothing more embarrassing than dating a man that was young enough to be her son. She sighed, ready to give up when she spotted a notification. There was an automatic match.

Curious, she clicked onto the profile to look at the details. A familiar grinning face with balding grey hair appeared. Beneath was a description that might have been a bit too exaggerated.

_Mal. 65. Athletic thrill-seeker. Connoisseur of art, food and music. Amateur chef. Expert on the NBN. I am a humble man, but loyal to the ones I love.  
  
_ Below the description was a link to his new memoir on Booktopia.

Berejiklian shook her head. It was none other than former Prime Minister, Malcolm Turnbull. She always knew him to be one to embellish the truth. Even the thought of Turnbull being humble was laughable. Some poor fool was bound to fall for the narrative he was providing on _Tinder_ , but knowing him for more than twenty-five years, the Premier knew better.

_Poor Lucy._ She thought. For a sharp woman, she seemed completely unaware that her husband was having an affair. Berejiklian was ready to send him an abusive message on Tinder, when her phone began to ring. Reluctantly, she picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Gladys! What a wonderful surprise.” Turnbull sung cheerfully, “I’m so glad to see you getting back into the arena again. And to think that _we_ are the perfect match.”

“More to the point,” Berejiklian interrupted, “Why are _you_ on _Tinder_? If you’re cheating on Lucinda, I’ll ring her up right this minute.”

To her surprise, he merely laughed. “Oh don’t worry about that. Lucy knows I’ve been seeing other people. We’ve had an open relationship for a while.”

“You have?” Berejiklian asked. She felt slightly foolish having jumped to the wrong conclusions.

“You can ask her if you like, although she’s out at the moment with her lover so I wouldn’t want to ruin her night.” Turnbull said.

“No, it’s fine.” She said quickly. “But Malcolm…we’ve been friends for over twenty-five years. I hardly think us going on a date would be ideal.”

“But why not?” The former Prime Minister asked. “You fell in love with the wrong guy, and now you need a night free from stress. Come to Point Piper tomorrow night. We’ll have the house to ourselves and we can just have a bit of fun.”

“I’m not sure.” Berejiklian answered nervously. After all, she did not want a repeat of recent events.

“No strings attached, Gladys. You know me. I wouldn’t ever do to you what that loser Maguire did.”

As soon as she had heard his name, her heart raced and her emotions began to bubble up to the surface once more. Was this date really such a good idea? There was silence on the other end of the line as Turnbull waited patiently for an answer.

“I’ve got a lot of work to do tonight.” Berejiklian answered finally, worried she was going to crumble on the phone to him, “Can I get back to you tomorrow?”

“Of course, Gladys.” Turnbull replied warmly. “Take as much time as you need. No pressure. And by the way, I meant what I said on the radio interview: I hope you never resign. You’ve done a lot of good to our state during times of crisis.*Don’t give in to them.”

She hung up, too overcome by emotion to show her gratitude. But Turnbull would not have minded: he was used to her clamming up whenever personal things came into play. The Premier lay down on the couch, her mind buzzing with too many thoughts. Hearing his name often had that effect on her.

For an instant, she thought of Maguire’s bulky build nestled against hers on the couch as they lay together for what had been the last time. She yearned for his touch, but knew that all it carried was a poisoned chalice. Berejiklian closed her eyes. Right now, she needed to put that man out of her mind, once and for all.

_“Beautiful.” Maguire remarked, his large hand stroking her face._

A tear seeped out of the corner of her eye and she blinked the memory away.

~

The next day, Berejiklian awoke all the more aware of the emptiness beside her. She got out of bed and got ready for the day, trying to keep her mind on political tasks she had to get done. But as she got into the car, she remembered Turnbull’s offer from last night. Was this something she was ready for? To hell with it, she realised, reversing out of the driveway. Maguire was not with her anymore, so there should be no guilt.

_He would want me to move on._ She reasoned with herself. Besides, if he really did care for her, he would get back to her. Even though the relationship was well and truly over, she missed hearing his voice on the way to and from work. It was soothing, especially when waiting amongst the Sydney traffic at peak hour. Maguire always said the right thing.

The rest of the day was grueling and exhausting and she was glad to finally be getting back home. After much deliberation, Berejiklian decided there was no point in sitting still. She had to take matters in her own hands.

Once she had arrived home, she began to get ready for the evening. She decided not to send a message to Turnbull as confirmation: it was better to just go ahead with it, just in case she had a change of heart. The Premier could not afford to disappoint more people.

Berejiklian opened her wardrobe. Normally she knew what to wear for the right occasion, but this time she was a little stuck. It had been ages since she had last gone on a date. At the very back of the wardrobe hung the figure-hugging pink dress that she had worn during the 2019 NSW Election night.

She took the dress out, staring at it wistfully for a moment. When she had last worn it, she was at her most powerful. Even Maguire remarked on how amazing she looked that evening. But at a time like this, she felt anything but. As she was about to put it away, she remembered Turnbull’s words.

_You’ve done a lot of good to our state during times of crisis. Don’t give in to them._

Upon recalling his last sentence, she stared back at the dress. Turnbull would have wanted her to wear it, she knew it. He always had a lot of respect for her abilities. Now was not a time for self-pity, but one where she could reclaim her power: to be the woman she was before Maguire had torn her life apart.

Within minutes, she was dressed and made up. Although she normally quite conservative with her makeup, she decided to go for the reddest lipstick in her collection. The Premier then dabbed a little bit of her best perfume behind her ears. Turnbull always had expensive taste, so _No. 5 Chanel_ was the right choice. In her stilettos, she strode over to her bed, before retrieving a black briefcase beneath it. Briefly, she opened it up to inspect its contents. Then, with a satisfied smile, she clicked it shut.

_Point Piper, here I come_.

~

As soon as she had arrived at Point Piper, the gate swung open. She walked in promptly.

Turnbull was standing at the porch. His blue eyes gazed at her from head to toe. A slight smile curled on his lips.

“Good evening, Gladys. I’m so glad you’ve changed your mind. Come right in, Lucy’s gone out for the evening.”

The Premier walked into the house, reaching up to take off her coat. Turnbull stood behind her, slipping it gently off her shoulders. She turned around in bewilderment. His gentlemanly manners had not changed after all these years, even when there were no cameras around. He went over to hang the coat in the cloakroom for her.

“So, what are we going to be eating for dinner tonight?” Berejiklian asked as he returned. “I read from your Tinder that you’re quite the chef.”

“Oh you know how it is when you have too much time on your hands. Since retiring I’ve become something of a culinary expert.” Turnbull responded effortlessly. He gestured for her to sit down at the dining table. She gasped as she noticed all the effort he had gone to. Not only was the cutlery and plates set, but he had lit candles just for the occasion. Everything sat atop an elegant burgundy table cloth.

She gazed back at him in amazement. “You did this?” She asked in disbelief.

“Give me some credit, Gladys.” Turnbull chuckled. “As I wasn’t sure you were going to come, I decided to give it my all so you would not be disappointed if you did.” He went over to move a chair back to allow his date to sit down. As soon as she had sat down, he placed a napkin on her lap. His fingertips barely brushed against her thighs. Berejiklian noted that he was definitely on his best behaviour.

“Now before we get started, allow me to treat you to something special.” He went over to the kitchen, returning with a steel champagne cooler, the neck of a bottle sticking out of it. Turnbull took the bottle out, before popping off the cork and then filling up her glass. Berejiklian caught a glance of the name of the wine: _Château d'Yquem 1811._ The Premier’s eyes widened and she looked back at the former Prime Minister.

“Yes. That’s exactly what you think it is.” Turnbull responded calmly, as if it were just any old bottle of wine. “When has been the last time since you’ve tasted something like this, Premier?”

She picked up the glass, inspected it against the light of the candle and then gave it a sip. It was difficult to work out what tasted like. There were so many different flavours, yet they all seemed to balance each other so well.

“I’ve never tried this before.” She admitted, putting the glass down. “I’ve never tasted _anything_ like it.”

“It’s known to last on the palate for a remarkably long time.” Turnbull explained. He licked his lips. “A prolonged pleasure…” It was clear that he was not just talking about the wine. If there was one thing Turnbull was not good at hiding, it was his flirtatious nature. But she was too overcome by the taste of wine to really be bothered by it.

Berejiklian looked over at the cloche that was sitting nearby. “Enough chit chat, Malcolm. I want to know what you’ve cooked up for us tonight.”

“I’m so glad you’ve asked.” Turnbull replied. With a flourish, he lifted the cloche. Underneath was a dish full of bright colours.

“Paella with mussels, clams and shrimp.” He announced grandly. Berejiklian looked at the dish in amazement. It looked far too good to be true. The wealth of flavours wafted through the air. She could not wait to try it.

Reading her mind, he picked up her spoon, scooping up a small portion of the rice. He brought it over to her lips.

Berejiklian felt slightly awkward having him practically spoon-feed her, but given all of the hassles she had been through, it was a welcoming change to be cared for. She opened her mouth hesitantly, taking a bite.

“Wow.” She remarked, after chewing a mouthful. “You really _are_ talented.”

“Do try the clams.” Turnbull insisted, gesturing to them, “They say seafood is an aphrodisiac.”

He opened one of the clams, bringing it close to her mouth. She could feel the warmth of his body as his arm moved towards her. Even before tasting it, the seafood was having an effect on her already. Without thinking, Berejiklian fanned herself briefly, before she devoured its contents.

“Mmm….” She sighed. After witnessing her reaction, Turnbull looked terribly pleased with himself. “The seafood tastes so fresh.”

“It should be. Freshly caught this morning on my yacht.”

Her eyes widened at the response. Perhaps there was more to this man than she had known.

Turnbull went over to sit down in his seat opposite to her, not taking his eyes off her. The Premier continued to help herself to the Paella.

“I must say, that pink dress has always looked incredible on you.” Turnbull remarked, smiling. 

Berejiklian swallowed a mouthful. “Y-you think so?” She asked shyly.

“You know I always mean what I say, Gladys.” He picked up his own glass of wine. “To you: the best Premier this state has ever seen.”

She picked up her glass, which she noticed had been refilled without her looking. Their glasses clinked together. The two of them took a hearty swig at their drinks at the same time. The taste was intoxicating. Even though it did not make sense to her, she loved its flavours. It was nice to enjoy luxury for a change.

“You’re full of surprises.” She muttered, putting down the glass. Her head was still spinning. Never, did she expect an evening quite like this. Turnbull merely grinned back at her. It was clear that everything was going to plan.

For the next few minutes, they ate in silence. There was not much they could say to each other for they already knew each other for several years. But it was a comforting silence nonetheless.

Berejiklian stood up suddenly, picking up her cutlery and plate.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. Just leave them here.” Turnbull said.

“No, I insist. You’ve gone to all the trouble of preparing such a delicious meal for me.” The Premier walked over to collect the plate from him. Turnbull tried to argue, but she had turned her heel and walked straight into the kitchen.

Since she had been to Point Piper many times, she knew exactly where everything was. Turnbull was very much a habitual character, after all. She opened the drawer to the rubbish bin so to scrape the clamshells into it. As she was about to do so, she spotted a paper bag, flung carelessly to the side. Berejiklian chuckled to herself. For a politician who was once an Environmental Minister, he seemed to care little for recycling. But upon closer inspection she saw the _Uber Eats_ logo. A receipt was attached to it: _Seafood Paella - $26.00._ To add to a disappointment, a bottle of _Yellow Tail_ wine lay empty beside the bag. She knew the _Château d'Yquem_ was too good to be true. Berejiklian sighed. She could not believe she had enjoyed the taste, not knowing that she was being played. Why was she such an easy target for deception?

She managed to keep herself calm as she strode back to the dining room. The former Prime Minister smiled at her still seated. Berejiklian picked up the black briefcase she had left near her seat, before sidling closer to him, tracing a hand against his shirt buttons.

“I must say, I am amazed…”

“Oh?” Turnbull asked, his grin like a Cheshire cat. His ego was being stroked.

“Yes.” She said, drawing in close, her lips near his. The boldness of the Premier was exciting Turnbull. “…By how much of a…LIAR you are!”

A hard slap met his cheek. Turnbull clutched his face, startled by the accusation. “What…what is the meaning of this Gladys?”

“Don’t play dumb with _me_ , Malcolm. I saw the _Uber Eats_ bag…not to mention the cheap wine.” Her voice had taken on an icy tone and he backed away slightly. Was this how she normally spoke with her ministers? “Now.” She continued, “I cannot simply leave this disappointing date without holding you accountable for your actions. Take off your clothes.”

Turnbull’s eyes widened. “Well, this is a surprise.” He chuckled.

“Do it.” Berejiklian demanded, her dark eyes piercing into his, “Or I’ll do it for you.”

The former Prime Minister stripped, although he kept winking back at her as he was doing so.

“Hurry up.” Berejiklian ordered. His hands began to unbutton his shirt faster.

Once he was naked, she opened up the briefcase. It was faced away from Turnbull, although there was a burning curiosity in his eyes as he was trying to work out what was in there.

Berejiklian took out what appeared to be a riding crop. She tapped the tip against his bare shoulder. “Get on your knees.”

Turnbull slumped to his knees, although his expression was too excited. She noticed that he was getting aroused just from following her orders.

“You recall I was in Girl Guides, don’t you Malcolm?” Berejiklian asked, putting the crop back into the briefcase before taking out another item, “There was something they taught me while I was there.”

“Confidence, self-respect and responsibility.” Turnbull responded confidently. He had recited the website word for word.

“No.” Berejiklian corrected him, taking a long, red rope out of the briefcase. “How to tie knots.”

Turnbull looked back at her in alarm as she began to wrap the rope around his sweaty torso. With the efficient manner she had always employed in office, she got to work tying the rope around his limbs. Turnbull knelt, paralysed by excitement and fear. When the initial shock had worn off, he struggled in the confines, but the knots were far too tight.

“There’s no way you’ll get out of it.” Berejiklian told him with a smirk. She grabbed his jaw, tilting it upwards to face her properly. “I was _very_ good at being a Girl Guide, you know. These knots are fool-proof.”

Turnbull scowled, “Actually.” He tried to argue, “I did take down the Thatcher Government during-”

“During Spycatcher, I know.” Berejiklian interrupted him, clearly disinterested in the exploits he continued to brag about from several years ago. Knowing him, he probably lied about it too. “Anyway, you look awfully funny trying to be a lawyer on me tied up like this. You should see what you look like in a mirror. Like a pork loin.”

Turnbull was about to argue back when she took out the riding crop. Leaning in close, she whispered in his ear.

“Squeal for me, piggy.”

She slapped against his lower back, causing him to cry out. She slapped against it again, just for the fun of it. Hell, he deserved it for being a lying pig like Maguire. She just wished she had the chance to exact her revenge on him.

“I’m sorry!” Turnbull blubbered, trembling as he experienced a tingling sensation against his buttocks, “It’s just that I’ve been spending so much money recently and I just needed to be a bit more sensible. Liberal to liberal, you know the importance of sensible spending.”

“I don’t need to hear your pathetic excuses, Malcolm. You have more money than our State Budget.” She went over to the dining table, picking up the burning candelabra.

“What are you going to do to me?” Turnbull asked, quivering as he noticed the candelabra in the Premier’s hand.

“Didn’t you say you were a thrill-seeker on your Tinder profile? Or was that a lie too?” The flame was up close against his chest, “You disappoint me…being so vanilla and all.”

“T-that part was not a lie.” Turnbull stammered defensively, clearly offended at being called vanilla. It was clear that he still wanted to prove himself to be more than the disappointment he had unintentionally shown her.

A couple of drops of wax fell onto his chest. He jolted at the slight sting.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a bit of wax, dear Malcolm.” Berejiklian said mockingly, looking at the way the former politician’s muscles seemed to spasm.

She stepped back briefly to remove her dress, watching the way his eyes seemed to bulge out of his head. But Premier kept her lingerie on, as well as her heels: he did not deserve to see all of her yet. She ran a hand against his face, smirking. “I know how much you like it when I wear that dress, so I figured it would be best that I take it off. After all, I know how much you hate it when you don’t get what you want.” More drops of the candle fell against him, this time onto his balding head. Turnbull gasped, but she traced her fingers against the melted wax, almost lovingly. “Do you know what happens to wax when it touches the more sensitive parts of your body?” She asked teasingly. Still clutching on the candelabra with her other hand, she swept her hand down his torso.

Turnbull shook his head. Any closer and his chest hairs would be singed.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious to find out, Mr Thrill-seeker?” She planted a kiss over where the wax had last touched him: his chest and the top of his head. Turnbull closed his eyes. He did appreciate the more tender side of the Premier.

But it was all short-lived. She tilted the candelabra, positioning it near his belly. The former politician seemed to convulse in his binds. With her free hand, she grabbed hold of the back of his head, pulling him close before giving a slow kiss on his lips. Turnbull moaned as she began to kiss more passionately, using her tongue. Her lingerie-clad body pushed up next to his was such a tease: he would have had his way with her if he were not so tied up. But judging by the erection that was pressing against her thigh, she knew that he was clearly enjoying being trapped.

After she pulled away from him, she continued to drizzle the wax down his body, planting kisses on the areas touched with wax as she did so. He gasped as she began to kiss downwards, before her lips met with the tip of his engorged member.

“Don’t stop, Gladys.” Turnbull begged.

She briefly ran her tongue against the shaft, enjoying the way he shook. The Premier continued to toy with him, listening to the way his breathing became more haggard. But she was not ready to give him his satisfaction just yet.

Berejiklian pulled away, disappointing him suddenly.

“Please, keep going.” Turnbull pleaded, “Just for a few more minutes.”

She stood up, suddenly pressing her stiletto against his bare thigh. “I’m the one who calls the shots here. Not you. Remember, you still have to make up for that pathetic excuse of a date. Now lie down and do as I say, or I’ll keep you tied up like this all night.”

With a struggle, Turnbull managed to get on his back. He felt so defenceless like this, but he could not help the way his body seemed to give away his enjoyment. All this reminded him of that exciting time of Spycatcher*. He adored how the Iron Lady had her way with him, and now it was happening with another extremely powerful woman.

After putting down the candelabra, Berejiklian removed her panties before climbing on top of the former politician. She could feel him shake under her.

“Are you man enough to do this, or will I have to give you a shoddy review on Tinder?”

Turnbull wanted so desperately to prove her wrong that he began to run his tongue against her. She was soaking wet, and he hoped he could make that increase, although it would be more challenging without his hands available. But he knew, without a doubt that even the most powerful women in the world had a g-spot. He could feel the way she trembled as soon as he found it.

She sighed as he continued. He certainly was not called a silver-tongued devil for nothing. As he continued to work into her, she closed her eyes. The Premier was enjoying every moment, but she wanted more: it was such a shame that he was tied up.

Berejiklian got off him, patting him on the cheek. “That was very good, Malcolm. But maybe this is a little bit cruel of me to leave you tied up.” She began to untie him, at least freeing his hands.

At last, Turnbull was able to touch her. After he got up from the floor, he made the most of the opportunity by unclasping her bra. He began to kiss her on the lips, his other hand reaching down to stroke her clit. She was moister now.

“There is one thing that I did not lie about when I was writing my Tinder bio.” Turnbull said as he began to slip his fingers beneath her, causing her to moan. “…I may not be a humble man, but I truly am loyal to those I care about.” With his other hand, he tucked her hair gently behind her ear, before kissing her tenderly on the lips. Berejiklian met his lips with more force and he was quick to reciprocate.

“I will never…” He muttered in between kisses, “Never betray you the way Maguire did. My loyalty to you is for life.”

“You better mean it.” Berejiklian responded. But her threatening tone had softened considerably and all she could do was pant as she felt his hard cock against her, waiting to be accommodated. She nestled herself on top of him, gasping as she felt his length inside her. Turnbull smirked.

“It’s really not that big.” She teased, although her tone seemed to indicate otherwise. Slowly, she began to move her hips, the two of them moaning at each penetration. The candles of the candelabra were well and truly snuffed out and the dining room was dark as their sweaty bodies moved together, their pleasure syncronising. Berejiklian’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as she leaned her head back. Turnbull’s face was pressed up against her breasts, sucking on one of her hardened nipples. For a brief moment, she had forgotten completely about Maguire. Nothing else mattered except for this moment.

When they finally came together, they kissed each other on the lips tenderly. Berejiklian got off him, untying the rope completely. Turnbull felt relieved to have control over his body again, but he did not want this to end. He wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing the side of her neck.

“Why don’t we continue this somewhere that is a little more comfortable?” The former Prime Minister asked.

“Of course.” Berejiklian responded breathlessly, melting into his touch once more. It was only yesterday when she felt like she should give up on love altogether. But perhaps now romance was not so dead after all. Turnbull may have been deceitful, but from all the twenty-five years she had known him, she knew with certainty that he would stand by her. After all, lying on a Tinder profile was never quite as serious as doing corrupt political activities. She turned to face Turnbull, surprised to see the wide grin on his face.

“I always knew you were going to going to punish me, dear Gladys.” He chuckled knowingly, “That’s why I left the _Uber Eats_ bag in such a conspicuous spot.”

“Oh, you are impossible.” Berejiklian laughed, reaching down to pick up the long piece of red rope. “Let me see what I can do to you tied up on the bed, then.”

The two had left the room, still buzzing with arousal and excitement. The night was still young and the Premier still had so much energy. As they settled into the bedroom, her phone sat face down on the dining table. A private number was ringing her.   
  


Even though she had moved on, someone else clearly had not.

**Author's Note:**

> *Footnotes for explanations: 
> 
> “I meant what I said on the radio interview: I hope you never resign. You’ve done a lot of good to our state during times of crisis”: Prior to writing this fanfic, I was inspired by the interview that Turnbull did recently where he defended the NSW Premier for falling for Maguire. If you are curious, check out the link below.
> 
> https://www.abc.net.au/radionational/programs/breakfast/turnbull-berejiklian-wrong-guy/12760318 
> 
> “All this reminded him of that exciting time of Spycatcher.”: This is a direct reference to an earlier fanfic I had done about four years ago involving Turnbull and Maggie Thatcher. You can view it in the link below.
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/5839075


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